robot shit [helena and avi]

Two nights without sleep and Helena was dreaming her way half-lidded through another performance with the silent theater troupe. The sharp-edged stares of her fellow thespians diced her skin like an onion and stung her face like one, too, but she noticed nothing in her grogginess. A yawn stretched out as she rubbed the dry from her eyes and squinted into coherence.

Shit.

She tossed that word into the spin cycle and let it swirl around her head. Shitshitshitshit. Nothing drained the life from Helena’s lungs like realizing everyone’s eyes rested squarely on her. Insomnia was becoming a more and more vicious foe. The restlessness at night crossed over as restful in times best suited for the waking. Partially sleepwalking in front of a(n extremely tiny and underwhelming) crowd was one thing, but being unfocused in front of her peers couldn’t have a happy ending. That story was being erased as she collected her thoughts and pretended to be anywhere besides there.

Two nights without sleep and Helena was unable to tread water much longer. It filled her emptied lungs. She gasped for air but she didn’t make a sound. She couldn’t. True to form, she was silent. The crowd snapped sparsely and dispersed when it was all said and done, when the group took their bows and she stayed stiff and tall behind them. Shortly after, they all split into small circles of conversation, shuffling out of the square like they hadn’t just bore their souls without a sound. Something about it was much more reverent for Helena, in a way she couldn’t quite pinpoint besides the whole “spending time with people without having to say a word” thing that first appealed to her. But there was more; there was safety that came with quiet expression, especially when her life was normally quiet and inexpressive. Not that she expressed much at all that day in her walking slumber.

They were face to face with her when she opened her eyes. She didn’t know their names, but they were definitely the ringleaders of the whole silent troupe shebang. Their mouths were filled with pink erasers, rocking about like someone left silver coins in their pockets in the washing machines, and Helena heard nothing but herself disappearing. She winced, feeling the pelt of an eraser meet her face, but the woman of the two grabbed her arm and again she left her dreams behind. There were no erasers in their mouths, but there was a glob of spit on Helena’s left cheek. She wiped it away and stared at the two with wide, soft eyes.

“You good girl? Anyway, your suspension ends in two weeks. Think about shit.” She turned and the other one followed. Shit.

Shitshitshit, shit shit shit, shit. It was all she had. And it was gone. Her legs froze and she slipped below the surface.

ooo

Two nights without sleep led to a few hours crumpled up against the curb like a discarded tissue. Spit stuck to her left cheek again, this time dripping from her lips in between snores and gargles. She needed a tissue. One hand pushed against the ground while the other reached overhead for a fence to keep steady. Helena stood, wiped her face with her sleeves. She stayed silent.

She knew it wasn’t a dream, that they really kicked her out of the troupe and sent her back to exactly where she was before: with nothing. Absolutely nothing. Helena dragged herself throughout the weeks, only having the spark to go on when she remembered the one thing that made her feel alive was waiting just around the corner, she just had to make it to the weekend to take to the streets and let out her heart in the only way she knew. Now she was doomed to go home and listen to her mother argue with the T.V. There was nothing to look forward to, nothing to push her. So she would go home, and listen to Sis tell her all about print media or how cows’ digestive systems work and hope it drowned out the heat from her ever-screaming parent.

At least she got some sleep. There was a tiny amount of solace in that, some peace that came on the heels of a bloody fight that’s damage was already done.

Three hundred and sixty-five steps separated her from home, and quietly she started that way. She counted her steps as usual, placing her focus entirely on not being noticed and getting the sweet hell out of eyeshot. Forty-four, forty-three, and she stepped on, until across the street a boy rushed by with… something in his arms that seemed all too peculiar to ignore. With three hundred and thirty-two steps left, she lost count and stopped moving. Helena never lost count, and she rarely mismanaged focus, but that could be chalked up to the lack of sleep. In fact, she could chalk all that day’s oddities up to the brutal insomnia that’d rather see her sleep outside on the asphalt than in the comfort of her own bed. But in the boy’s arms, something metallic clanked, and she could hardly stop her feet from gliding across the road and following his path.

Helena, what are you doing, what the hell Helena, you don’t do this, what the hell, are, you, doing? Even though the thoughts caught blurs of motion and rode through her head she heard nothing, registered nothing, and her entire focus was rewired onto the boy with what she was now sure was a robot of some sort, even though it could just be silverware, but it wasn’t, it couldn’t be, and oh shit she needed sleep. Real sleep, not sidewalk sleep. The boy was no longer in sight as her ability to focus was hardly as sharp as she depended, and she stopped moving again. Shit. She didn’t want to be alone.

A few blinks later, she was beating herself up for whatever the hell she’d just allowed to possess her, until she heard a knock on a door just around the corner from where she stood and she followed with fast, impassioned steps. The boy was there, thank ripred, and he held up what was in his arms to the -- bouncer? of a bar? was he taking a robot to a bar? Helena stopped again, her body tense and clammy with apprehension. This really was unlike her, but she couldn’t help it. The sleep, man. It was the sleep. She watched as the boy went inside and the bouncer locked the door behind them.

She never ran home faster than she did that night, rushing up her stairs and flinging open her closet door to grab the only “cool” robot she ever made. It wasn’t her type of invention, per se; she was more interested in mechanics that helped or talked or made life less difficult. But there was one she made for their neighbor’s sixth birthday, a tiny pink box decorated like a gift, ribbon and all, that she left untouched for years. Helena pulled it out and smiled. One switch flipped it on, and tiny wheels peeled out from its underside as it began to roll around the room. Then, slowly, a balloon was blown up from a tiny hole on its top, and two more balloons blew from opposite sides.

In the initial blueprints, that was the end. The whole robot was a giftbox with balloons. Fun enough for a six year old, and it rolled around. What more could she need? But the recipient was raging, a bratty little shit that wanted more. So Helena gave her more, and was promptly banned from ever coming over to their house again. In the grand scheme of things, she was grateful to be kicked out of their house. It smelled like eggs all the time anyway, and now she was able to use that very reason to get into a bar and show that boy that he wasn’t the only person that made cool little robots. Shit she hoped it wasn’t silverware.

Up her shirt went the box, and down the street went Helena, till she made it back to the bar and realized suddenly that she was in over her head. She didn’t know how to talk to people. She held her fists tight and hoped the robots could do the talking for her. Helena knocked on the door, and when the man opened it he was met with a robot to the face. He eyed her with disdain, and then a menacing smirk grew across his lips. “Go right on in,” he said, a bubble of cynicism popping between his teeth, but she nodded fervently and rushed inside the doors before she changed her mind.

ooc: WONDERFUL TABLE MADE BY RYAN WOW 
L△LIA